Halo Shorts
by Lizardios
Summary: A series of Halo one-shots. They take place at various times.
1. The End is Nigh

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

After my last Halo fic, a friend of mine said I should do a series of one-shots. I actually let him talk me into this, an amazing feat, since usually, 99 of what he says should be ignored at all costs. For those waiting for the next chapter of IWGH2, don't worry, it'll be up once my laptop is upgraded. Right now, until my dad upgrades it, I can't access the info, so I haven't given up on it, don't worry. This though, will be my: 'whenever I have spare time on another computer, or can't think of anything better to do' type thing. But don't worry, when I write, unless it's a humour fic, I always take it seriously.

* * *

Title: The End is Nigh 

Genre: General

Rating: PG-13

Summery: A novelisation of the end of Halo 2. Slight changes from the game though.

* * *

The Elite dropped the empty Brute Shot and scooped up the Human shotgun that the ape creature had dropped. In the Human/Covenant war, the shotgun was the one advantage the Humans had in the field, a weapon which had the power to blow through any shields, be it Jackal, Elite, possibly even the Demon's… 

A quick pump of the ballistic weapon, and a check that he still had his energy blade, the Arbiter moved down the corridor, the way to the control room. He didn't know what he would find, for the most part, but he knew for certain that Tartarus would be there. The Sangheili rested the gun on his shoulder as he walked, alert. Too many times had he almost been killed because he had lowered his guard. The same could be said for his father, and his grandfather. They say luck ran in the family, but obviously it had run out for him, otherwise he wouldn't even be in this position, the Elites would still be the honourable defenders of the Hierarchs, heck, Humanity would already be destroyed… but he didn't regret the past, he had learnt the truth about the alleged 'Holy Rings,' something he still hadn't believed until he heard the human, the one they called Johnson. The Arbiter wasn't skilled when it came to reading voices, but he _had_ heard the Human's ever so slight fear and desperation, covered by a mask of arrogance and cockiness.

He shifted the shotgun, hearing voices.

"Come Human, it is easy. Take the Icon in your hands… and do as you are told!"

Tartarus, and he had a Human with him. From the sound of struggling, it was probably the female that had taken the Icon from the Library. Keyes.

"Please! Use caution! This Reclaimer is delicate!"

The Oracle was here? The Arbiter rolled his eyes. Of course it was here, it could tell the Brutes just what they had to do. Excepting Tartarus, they were too dumb to figure out how to pilot even as simple a vehicle as a Ghost without being told how.

"One more word, Oracle, and I'll rip your eye from its socket!"

But even Tartarus wasn't immune to the Brute temper problems. The sound of the Human grunting shortly followed.

"Which is nothing compared to what I will do to you."

That tone of voice... Tartarus intended to do to Keyes what he had done to him. The Arbiter felt angry with the Brute Chieftain, but sympathetic for the Human, who wouldn't survive. **He **hadn't survived, mentally. It had only been recently that he'd felt the will to actually live again. The Human… He didn't want to think about it. Refused to. Calming himself, the Elite of the Elites stepped out.

"Tartarus. Stop!" He called out, his reddish eyes narrowed.

"Impossible!"

The albino Brute was visibly shocked when he heard the calm voice. The Arbiter looked at the female. She looked far younger than any other Human he had seen in his life. She didn't look like she belonged in the battlefield, but her eyes held a fierce determination, and he immediately respected her for that. Anyone who could still have that look, even after Tartarus was the one threatening you, earned his respect right then. Not even he'd remained like that when Tartarus had threatened him.

"Put down the Icon."

Pretend he could care less about the Human; that would be his trump card. Tartarus had no way of knowing that he'd allied himself with the humans. The Scarab had all of the Marines he rescued; the rest of his kind that could come, were coming. If need be, the combined might of the Elites, Grunts, Hunters and Humans were more than enough to take on the Brutes.

"Put it down? And disobey the Hierarchs?"

Arbiter silently took back his earlier thought. Tartarus was dumb, but determined. Even with the risk of his life, the Brute still refused to deviate from the words the Prophets.

"There are things about Halo even the Hierarchs do not understand."

He would rather not fight. The Brutes, despite their IQs, were powerful, and casualties would be high. He had witnessed a berserked Brute take down a pair of Hunters in melee combat.

"Take care Arbiter. What you say is heresy."

Of cause, he refused to even acknowledge the thought that the Prophets were wrong. He had one last ace to try and end this without blood. Revenge was unimportant, unlike earlier, when he had first discovered the Brute's treachery. Life was balancing on a fine wire, and he was about to try and prevent it from loosing that balance, with or without bloodshed.

"Is it? Oracle, what is Halo's purpose?"

He wasn't only asking it for the Chieftain's purpose, but it would also be the final proof he needed to confirm what he was still unsure about.

"Collectively, the seven…"

The answer was cut off as Tartarus snatched the AI from the Brute that was holding it and snarled at the lens.

"Not-another-word…"

"Please… Don't shake the light-bulb."

Arbiter turned slightly, and witnessed Johnson walk right beside him, aiming a beam rifle at the albino Brute, most of the remainder of the Marines behind him, all aiming at the group of Brutes. Just arriving behind them, an even larger group of Sangheili arrived. The four Brute accompanying Tartarus snarled and started forward. Johnson lifted his weapon up, so it aimed at a more vital part of the albino.

"If you want to keep brains in your head, I'd tell those boys to chill."

To the Arbiter's surprise, after a slight hesitation, the Brute muttered something in the Brute native tongue, and the guards backed up slightly.

"That was assuming Brutes even have a brain…" Arbiter muttered to the Marine, who smirked.

"Go on. Do your thing."

There was understanding in the Human's voice. Did he know…? Heedless, the Elite nodded.

"The 'Sacred Rings', what are they?"

He almost didn't want to hear the answer.

"Weapons of last resort built by the Forerunners to eliminate potential Flood hosts, thereby rendering the parasite harmless."

There was the proof, the parasite leader, the Demon, the Humans, they were telling the truth. The Prophets either didn't know, or they didn't care.

"And those who made the rings? What happened to the Forerunners?"

Another question, one that he already knew the answer of but wanted the evidence, the conclusive proof.

"After exhausting every other strategic option, my creators activated the rings. They and all additional sentient life in three radii of the galactic centre died... as planned… Would you like to see the relevant data?"

Was that sorrow in the AI's voice? It sounded as though it regretted the choice the Forerunners made. Arbiter couldn't help but feel… Depressed. Despite their not being Gods, as the Prophets claimed, they were obviously an advanced race, one that wiped itself out because of the Flood.

"Tartarus, the Prophets have betrayed us…"

For a minute, Tartarus seemed convinced, but then he narrowed his eyes and threw the Oracle at Johnson, who went flying back. The Brute grabbed Keyes' hand, placed the Icon in it before pushing it down, where it had to be placed. The device slid down. The young Commander, now free of his grasp, dove to the side, onto a platform that was rotating around the room. Tartarus had obviously beserked, and was holding his 'sledge hammer' as Johnson put it.

"No Arbiter! The Great Journey has begun! And the Brutes, not the Elites, shall be the Prophets' escort."

The room started changing, preparing Halo to fire. Arbiter didn't hesitate, as he activated his energy sword, charging at one of the Brutes, skewering him with the weapon, before spinning around, slicing the blade through another's throat. The third Brute was kicked in the neck, making him fall off the edge of the platform. The last of the Brute soldiers beserked, and charged for him, but was promptly cut down by the Marines. Arbiter leapt off of the walkway onto the platform in the middle of the room. Right into another set of Brutes. The other Elites were close behind him, and helped him take out the bear-like aliens. A beserked Brute charged for the Arbiter, but the Elite shot him in the heart with the shotgun.

"Charging sequence initiated. Primary generators coming on line."

Soon enough all of the Brute soldiers were dead, but Tartarus stood some distance away, a shield covering him.

"Well shut them down!"

The Brute was analysing the Elites. He sneered at all but one. When he looked at the Arbiter, he showed fear. He was scared of the Arbiter.

"Apology. Protocol does not allow me to interfere with any aspect of the sequence."

The Elites charged, silently thanking the Marines who had perched themselves on the edges and were firing at the Brute whenever a clear shot was provided.

"Well… How do **I** stop it?"

Tartarus shrugged off any attack made, and smashed the skull of an Elite who tried to get close enough to use his sword. Another Elite tried to use a pair of Needlers, a weapon that could bypass most shields. The Brute swept out his weapon and smashed the Sangheili's ribs. He then threw another off the platform, gaining some small satisfaction when the Elite screamed. He stabbed out and crushed the chest of a silver Elite.

"Well... it will take some time to go over the proper procedures. I…"

The Arbiter charged forward and vaulted over the mace as it was swung at him.

"Quit Stalling!"

Tartarus brushed away the last of the Elites, giving him a chance to fully focus on the Arbiter. He spun the weapon around and smashed into the floor, leaving a large dent. Before he could lift it up, the Elite ran up the handle and aimed a kick at Tartarus' face. The Brute caught the foot easily and smirked in victory. That smirk vanished though, as a shotgun was fired in his face at point blank, not penetrating his shield, but the force pushing his head back regardless. The Elite kicked his other foot at the Brute, turning his move into a summersault.

"Under more controlled circumstances, I would suggest the Reclaimer simply remove the Index."

Now some distance between them, Arbiter had a chance to pump the next round into the gun. He checked his situation. All the other Elites were either dead or injured. Tartarus unharmed.

"That's it? Johnson! I'm on it!"

Arbiter ducked under Tartarus as the larger alien charged at him, throwing a grenade as he rolled away.

"Hang tight ma'am! Not until that Brute is dead."

Johnson fired his beam rifle at Tartarus, and the white mist vanished. Arbiter saw his chance and charged, firing the shotgun as he went. A few shots hit home, the Brute was bleeding in several places. The plasma grenade forced Tartarus to take a step back.

"Second generators charging. All systems performing well within operational parameters."

Tartarus swung the mace at him, making him jump back, to avoid the weapon, but the thing grazed against him, making him take a few steps to the side, into the field that was holding the Icon. The field started to lift the startled Elite upwards. Looking up, Arbiter had no doubt it would lift him too high to survive the fall.

"Power generation phase complete. The installation is ready to fire. Starting final countdown."

The Elite grabbed onto the first ledge that came, and the results made him do what looked like a very messed up flip, that made the Arbiter land, sprawled out on the floor. He rolled over, clutching his ribs. They must have broken when Tartarus managed to hit him. The words of his father came back to him.

'_Honour is not a right; it is a privilege. Only show honour to those that earn it.'_

And he had. Subconsciously, he had shown honour to the Humans, after they started to fight back. Any race, which defied such odds, despite primitive technology, and still managed to hold on to survival the way they had, deserved to be shown honour. It was something most of the Elites had forgotten, or ignored, because of the Prophets propaganda against the Humans. Tartarus had just lost that privilege. The ground shook. Arbiter looked up. Tartarus towered before him. The Brute lifted his hammer. Three successive shots from Johnson's beam rifle hit the creature in the back. The recharged shields prevented any damage, but collapsed after the third shot. The speed of the shots meant that the weapon had just overheated, but it left the Sangheili with the opening he needed.

"Kick his ass, Arbiter!"

The shout, supplied by Johnson, was accompanied by encouraging cheers from the marines. Ignoring the pain, he lifted the shotgun and fired it at point blank range upon the Brute's kneecap. Tartarus let out a strangled cry, his hammer smashing into the ground next to the Elite's head. He grabbed the Energy Blade and activated it. The lethal weapon was sliced through the handle of the Brute's weapon, turning it into a staff rather than a mace. Arbiter shakily pulled himself to his feet. Tartarus slashed his now a staff at Arbiter, growling. The agile Elite jumped, landed on the staff and aimed a spinning kick at the Brute's still unshielded face. The kick connected, sending Tartarus reeling back.

"Hey, Mohawk, eat this!"

Just as the shields came back, Johnson took them out again. Arbiter wasted no time to slash the plasma sword at the Chieftain, but cried out in pain as the staff connected with his wrist, snapping the bone. He dropped the weapon, which deactivated as it left his hand. The Brute was quick to kick it over the edge of the platform. He turned to look smugly at the Arbiter when the Elite stuffed the barrel of the shotgun in Tartarus' face. The Brute's eyes widened as the Arbiter's mandibles twitched in a smirk. Even if the shields were to reactivate, since the weapon would actually fire **inside** Tartarus' mouth, he would still die. He couldn't survive, not when the offending weapon was a shotgun. The Elite coldly fired the Human weapon. Blood and gore exited through the back of Tartarus' head, staining the ground.

* * *

Miranda had watched the fight, standing on a platform that was rotating around the room, the Monitor floating besides her. She had learnt how to prevent the activation of Halo, but it seemed a bit more willing to let her stop the activation then it had with the Chief. Still, she wasn't about to hex her luck. When she saw the strange Elite kill the albino Brute, she didn't waste time.

"Marines! Give those Elites medical attention!"

She jumped from the platform to another, ducking under an obstacle. She dropped down to the centre platform and yanked the Index from the field that was holding it. She held it tightly, intending not to lose it again when the room started to rumble. The Commander looked around for a cause, when a bright blue light flew up the anti-grav field. Though none of them could see it, the light had gotten steadily bigger, until it had reached the energy build-up, in the middle of the Ring World. When they touched, they turned into a blinding light, before vanishing. Keyes turned to where the Index had been, only moments ago. In its place, a hologram had appeared. She turned to the Monitor.

"What's that?"

The Monitor flew down besides her and examined the hologram. Johnson stood next to the Commander and looked at the object of her interest.

"A beacon."

Keyes shot the AI a look, which clearly indicated that the answer wasn't good enough.

"What's it doing?"

"Communicating at super-luminal speeds with a frequency of…"

"Communicating with _what_?"

"The other installations."

Miranda frowned for a second.

"Show me."

The hologram changed, to show seven Halos, moving into formation, but one of them had red writing marked next to it, indicating that that was the one the Master Chief had destroyed.

"Fail-safe protocol: In the event of an unexpected shutdown, the entire system will move to standby status. All remaining platforms are now waiting for remote detonation."

Keyes and Johnson both looked shocked at the news.

"Remote detonation? From here?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

Johnson glared at the Forerunner AI, and pointed at it, in a menacing manner.

"Listen Tinkerbell, don't make me…"

Before he could finish, Miranda put her hand on his shoulder, calming him. She turned to the Monitor.

"Then where? Where would someone go to activate the rings?"

The monitor looked at Keyes, than at Johnson, and back. When he replied, he sounded confused.

"Why, the Ark, of course!"

The Arbiter stepped behind the Commander and Sergeant. Both turned to look at him. Until they had access to better medical equipment, the marines had patched him up best they could, but he was still cradling his broken wrist, and keeping his arm away from his ribs.

"And where, Oracle, is that?"

* * *

John-117 was leaning against the wall, listening to the ship moving. He felt a shudder, and then the radio build into his helmet flared with activity.

"_We've got a new contact. It doesn't match any known profiles."_

A more familiar voice came up next.

"_It's not one of ours. Take it out."_

No better time to try and communicate with the UNSC.

"This is Spartan-117. Does anyone hear me? Over."

* * *

On the Cairo, Lord Hood turned to one of the technicians.

"Isolate that signal! Chief, you mind telling me what you're doing on that ship?"

The response was not one he was expecting, by any means.

"_Sir. Finishing this fight."_

End


	2. Guardian Demon

Title: Guardian Demon

Genre: General

Rating: T

Summery: During the Master Chief's stay at High Charity...

* * *

She ran. Too much was happening. It had seemed like such a wonderful start to the day, which had turned to hell. First the Demon suddenly appeared before the noble Prophets, wiping out the Brutes that had been protecting them, then the Prophet of Truth had declared the whole Sangeili race heretics, and now she was being pursued by a pair of Brutes. She tugged her son's hand. Her son, he was his father's all right, even now, he was claiming he could take on the Brutes, in that same tone of voice that his father always used to use when talking about the humans. Now wasn't the time to think about him, he had died at Reach, and if there was one thing he'd want, it would be for his family to live. She continued running. The Brutes were still following, gaining. They rounded a corner, and another, trying to lose the pair of ape like creatures. Her son was whining again, saying he would protect her, just let him fight the Brutes. She admired her son for his courage, given the situation, but had it been Drones or Jackals, she still wouldn't have let him, he was too precious to her, too risk. Another corner, but she ran into an obstical that shouldn't have been there, knocking her back, inadvertidly pulling her son down with her. At first she feared it was another Brute, but looking up, she saw the one thing the Covenant as a whole feared: The Demon. Not even her son, with his cocky attitude and fearlessness, was unafraid. 

The Master Chief had been resting, leaning against the wall, regaining his breath. Rest is an important necessity to a soldier, if you don't rest when you get the chance, you may not have a chance to later. Truth was still broadcasting his propaganda, and he all but snapped at Cortana to shut it up, if she hadn't, he probably would have wasted precious ammo shooting at the ceiling until he hit the bloody speaker. Before she could reply, a blur slammed into him, and bounced back. He looked at the _blur_ and saw a sandy scaled Elite, wearing what looked like a robe, and had slightly longer limbs, and differently developed muscles. A female. Holding her hand, was another Elite, barely reaching his knees in height. The infant was wearing a vest and trousers, both made of an unusual material, that looked vaguely like denim and it had white scales. He guessed that the Elites gained their scale colour as they grew older. Both were breathing heavily, and looking at him in fear. But when the mother, he assumed it was the mother, looked at him, it had only increased her fear, she had been afraid even before she saw him. He tilted his head slightly, examining them both for potential weapons. None, they were no threat. He took a small step forward, wondering why the mother would be so afraid of something, even before she saw him. A howl gave him his answer. Brutes. He looked down the corridor that they had been running down an watched as a pair of Brutes charged around the corner and skidded to a halt upon seeing him. The Chief slowly reached for the shotgun on his back, hoping neither Brute would notice. Just as his hand clasped the handle, one of the Brutes charged at him, swinging the bayonnette of his Brute Shot at him, like a sword. Grunting, the SPARTAN ducked under the blade and shoved the shotgun into the torso of the ape and fired, sending the creature flying back. Slowly, he turned to the other Brute. The alien was standing still, shocked at how easily his partner had been disposed of. He heard the two Elites gasp softly.

The Brute glared at him for a couple of seconds before throwing his weapon to the ground, berserking. John fired off a quick shot at the Brute, hitting it in the leg. The alien ignored the powerful blast and slapped the shotgun out of the Demon's hands. John ducked under the second fist, before delivering a right hook at the Brute's neck, snapping it. The Brute, despite still dying, tried to smash his fist against the Master Chief's head, again. John caught the fist, and held it in place until the Brute slowly dropped to the floor. The SPARTAN turned around. His shotgun was lying at the feet of the child. The Elite stepped away from it as he approached. John scooped up the powerful weapon, and reloaded it. He looked at the female Elite for a couple of seconds, before handing her the weapon. The Elite looked at him, surprise evident on her face, before she clicked her mandibles and bowed to him. Nodding, the Chief started to walk down the corridor, resuming his pursuit of the two Prophets. He didn't have time to stand around all day, while the leader of the Covenant had the Index. He noted Cortana _standing_ on the next pedestal.

"Why didn't you kill them?"

"They were civillians, a woman and child. If I killed them, I'd be no better than the Covenant."

Cortana nodded. He had a point, two wrongs didn't make a right. She opened the door for the SPARTAN, into a large chamber, where a large group of Brutes awaited him. The Chief pulled out a plasma grenade.

"Betcha can't stick it."

John nodded.

"Your on."


	3. Restless

Title: Restless

Genre: General

Rating: K

Summery:Post Halo 2. The Arbiter's first night on Cairo

* * *

Restless. That was how he felt. Agitated. That too.

The Arbiter paced the small room, the room that he was given to sleep in. It contained the bare essentials of a human's sleeping quarters. It was cramped, for his Sangheili build. The ceiling was high, but he had no doubt that if he were to lie down on the bed, not only would his feet go off the end, but would also be resting against the wall. The room was as long as he was tall. He had to bear in mind that this room was designed with humans in mind, on a station that was designed to kill his kind in their ships. He couldn't walk out the room; he had no doubt. The two guards who were 'discreetly' placed outside of his door would keep him in. He wasn't a prisoner, really. But he was still un-trusted. And those guards were also there for _his_ protection.

He walked up to one wall, and then the other, and then repeated. He was wide-awake, despite it being late, even by his standards. He had come to Earth, along with the rest of the Elites, and the Grunts and Hunters. But only he had come aboard this station, the _Cairo_, with Keyes and Cortana. He sighed. He was restless, wide-awake, agitated and bored. Not a good combination with him. Ever since his youth, the only way to help was to do something, anything that gave him an adrenaline rush. He wondered if he could ask the guards if he could go out to at least go to the toilet. This room was hardly en suite.

His mind started to wonder. He wondered if his mother and sister were ok. His Father had died several years before the humans had been discovered, assassinated by heretics, heretics who were proven right in the end. His sister was still only what the humans called a teenager. He wondered if she had finally passed her education. He knew that the Elites being kicked out of the Covenant hadn't affected his home planet, because the construct, Cortana, had told him that Truth hadn't been able to get the message out of High Charity. This did present the problem on how to rally his people to the humans cause. He would think about that when asked to.

The Sangheili paced the room, again. He hated these feelings. He wanted to go to a blissful sleep. If there was only one thing that he could compliment the humans on, it would have to be that they could make such soft beds. The Marines could complain all they wanted, they were the softest he had ever seen.

Again, he paced the room. The bed could be the most comfortable in the universe; it wouldn't help him sleep. Perhaps he **should** ask the guards if he could go to the toilet. It gave him something to do, and he did need to go.

Five minutes later, he was pacing again, but feeling refreshed. One of the guards was gone, getting him something to do. More pacing. The door opened and the guard put several items on the table in the corner of the room. After the Marine left, he walked up to the table. There were three things: a plate with a couple of round slabs of meat inside a pair of buns. Human food. Smelt nice though. There was also an art pad and a pencil. Primitive, yes, but also more satisfying. He took a bite out of the strange food. Tasted like roasted Kliesov, a rarity, even on his home planet. Judging from the way the guard hadn't thought twice about giving him this food, this was rather common to humans.

He picked up the art pad and pencil and started sketching. At first, he simply sketched runes and symbols, those he had seen routinely when he was with the Covenant. Then he started to sketch people he knew, starting with his father, mother and sister. Half-Jaw was next. Then the humans he had come to know: Keyes, Johnson, that female Demon, even though all the Demons looked the same, just different sets of scratches and dents in their armour. Last, he drew Earth. He looked through the detailed sketches. Perhaps, when the war was over, he should become an artist.

Briefly, he wondered the fate of The Demon; the Master Chief. He had been on board the Forerunner ship when it was destroyed, left to crash down on Earth. He had to be dead, hadn't he. The female, Linda, she had disagreed, saying something about how 'luck' would save him... again.

He wanted to meet The Demon, properly. The brief meeting when Gavemind had bought them together wasn't ideal circumstances to meet someone, not that he would have been very formal anyway, since he'd still considered him an enemy. It was strange. He listened to The Demon's comrades, and talked about him like he wasn't anything special, that he was just human. Who could the one person that the whole Convenant feared, be nothing more than a human? When he'd asked, Johnson had grunted and mentioned circumstances.

He stood up, and sat down again. A pointless excersise, but he was bored again. He shut his eyes, thinking. Maybe, he when the morning came, he would write to his mother, his sister, find out how they were doing. He hadn't seen them since his graduation from the acadamy, and his duty had prevented him the chance to contact them.

Yes, a letter home. perhaps that was motivation enough to sleep, just so tomorrow came quicker.


	4. Bitter Family

Title: Bitter Family

Genre: General/Angst

Rating: PG-13

Timeline: Post Halo 2

Summery: A battle, between Father & Son.

* * *

The Elite awoke, yet didn't open his eyes. The ground was vibrating, meaning he was laying on the floor of a moving vehicle. He could vaguely hear muttering, from a crowd by the sounds of it. He tried to remember what had happened. The last thing he could remember was confrontling Truth, when the Prophet smirked at him, before being thrown off the building, by someone, or something. He was starting to think that every time things looked to be going his way, he should brace himself for a sudden drop. 

The Arbiter opened his eyes. Ah, that explained the where, he had smashed through the roof of a passing train. Surprisingly, full of civillians, all of whom were glaring at him with raw hatred. The Sangheili sighed, before examining his situation. His armour had been smashed to the point of no repair, leaving him in his torn undersuit. No shields, no stealth, not even any standard armour, just a tattered layer of fabric. He wouldn't stand a chance against against even a lowly Drone. And he was unarmed. Slowly, the Arbiter pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the aches and bruises that covered his body. He pondered, for a moment, as to why he was still alive, whatever had thrown him of the building had been strong enough to snap his spine with ease, yet it had decided to take a risk. Why? He looked at the crowd, doing his species equivilant of a frown. No point asking **them** for assistance.

The Arbiter started limping down the carrage, eager to get away from the humans who, rightfully so, hated him. He wasn't halfway to the door when the sound of glass smashing reached him. He spun around, hands up, ready for a fight if it came to it. The civillians screamed and tried to press themselves against the walls. The Arbiter looked at the new arrival in shock, another Elite, yet he was two feet taller that him, (and he was considered tall, even amongst his own species) and had a look of utmost loathing. But when the Arbiter took a good look at this new Sangheili, he gasped and started to back away. It was impossible, he had **died**! A sniper had shot him, a lung shot, something that garunteed a painful death! How could **he** be here!

"Father?" The Arbiter asked, voice shaking.

The new Elite smirked at the disgraced one.

"Son. You've been a bad boy, working with these heathen." The Elite dressed in gold said, in a mocking tone of voice. "Looks like I'm going to have to punish you!"

The Zealot ran at the Arbiter, faster than the son could track, and planted a fist in his stomach. The Arbiter doubled over, coughing up blood. Without giving his son a chance to recover, the zealot kicked the younger Elite, sending him staggering backwards, his ribs, barely healed from his fights against Tartarus, broken again. That punch and kick, the power behind them surpassed anything the Demon could have done, any of them. And he had pulled his punch, and put no effort into the kick. He was being toyed with, by his father, the one who had taught him everything he knew about fighting, and honour. Honour is a privilige had been the most important lesson, yet here he was, attacking his son, where was the honour in that? And how did someone who had been killed return, acting like they were pumped up with what the humans called steroids?

His father charged again, but this time the son was ready. The Arbiter shot his fist out, to meet with his father's face, but the experianced Elite grabbed his arm and twisted, snapping his arm, before executing a vicious upper-cut, sending his son flying back. The Arbiter landed on his back, groaning. If this was his father's definition of toying with someone, then he wasn't sure he wanted to see him actually trying. Slowly getting his feet, the disgraced Elite looked around, looking for an advantage. Not finding any, he tried to form a plan, something that could, if anything, help him escape. But he wasn't going to last much longer at this rate.

"How is this possible?" He asked, hoping to stall his father.

The veteran's smirk grew wider.

"I was given the same treatment that was given to the _Demon_." The Zealot gloated. "If he, a pathetic human, became as strong as the average Sangheili from the augmentation, just picture, if you will, what would happen to an Elite under the exact same conditions."

Only to easily, could he imagine the result, but the Prophets must have done something extra to the treatment, something to change him into a pawn of the Prophets, his father had never been sadistic, or cruel, not even to his enemies. When he had been sent of to fight the heretics, he hadn't formed any kind of pleasure from killing them, he was just following orders. Now that the Arbiter thought about it, his attitude was similar to that of The Demon, if what the other 3 had said was true. Impassive, he just put his mind on his job. Something had obviously changed that. Mind control chip? He'd never heard of something like that, but he wouldn't put it past the Prophets to use one if they had it. He was torn from his musings by his father charging towards him.

'Fool. never stray your thoughs in the middle of a battle.' The Arbiter silently scolded himself.

The youthful Sangheili ducked under the punch and rolled, stopping behing his elder and attempted a spinning kick, ignoring the pain from his broken ribs and arm. The Zealot spun around and grabbed his leg, and threw his son into the wall, denting the metal. Before the Arbiter could think to get up, the older Sangheili grabbed him by the neck and lifted him up, pinned against the wall. The Elite weakly struggled, but all he his was the shield surrounding his father. Only once had he felt this helpless, when Tartarus had tortured him, before he became the Arbiter. This wasn't as bad as that, though, nothing could ever compare to what Tartarus had done, that had been the only time he'd ever lost his will to live. His father sneered at him.

"Is it true?"

What was he talking about?

"Is it true that you bare the mark?"

The Mark of Shame. Permenently scarred on the Arbiter's chest. A constant reminder of the Covenant's betrayal. He renewed his struggle. His father moved his hand over one off the larger gashes in his clothing and pulled, tearing the fabric, and revealing the mark that had been burnt onto his son.

"I'm disappointed son. Very disappointed in you. Not only did you betray your Covenant, but you have dishonoured your family name."

"...And what... would... you know... about... Honour?" The Arbiter asked, putting a lot of effort into speaking. "Attacking... your own... son... like a... a... a Brute!"

His father's eyes widened in shock. He had hit a nerve. The Zealot hit his son in the face, his smirk now replaced with pure hatred.

"Dishonourable welp!" He shouted, making the humans yell out in shock.

The veteran started to hit his son, not bothering to pull his punches now, hiting and kicking the younger Elite. The Arbiter sruggled to stay concious during the assult. He looked pleadingly at the humans, but didn't expect them to be any help. He was surprised, therefore, when a human male picked up a shard of glass and stabbed at the attacking father. The attack never penatrated the shields. The Zealot struck the human, who fell to the ground, eyes glassy, but unseeing. As his father was distracted, glaring at the human who dared to strike him, the Arbiter, in a rush of adrenaline, climbed to his feet and leapt through a window, in a bid to escape his father. The glass of the mono-rail train smashed as he slammed into it, failing to stop him from making a jump that could well kill him.

* * *

Sargent Avery Johnson and a team of helljumpers tried, with difficulty, to move down the street. For some reason, this city seemed to ignore the Covenant threat, so long as the aliens weren't actually walking down the streets killing everyone in sight. This made it extremely difficult for the marines, because at the moment, it was rush hour. They had been assgned patrol duty, and even the cocky helljumpers knew that it was best to travel in numbers, especially after Brutes became the most common threat on the streets. But at the moment, the rush hour was forcing them to stop moving, or become lost in the swarm of civillians. Johnson cursed softly at being put into a patrol detail, he'd much rather be out on the frontlines than stuck in the middle of rush hour. They couldn't even call themselves soldiers at the moment, their job made them look more like fancy poilcemen, who were looking into a _rumour_ that the Prophet of Truth had been sighted. If it was true, it would explain the Arbiter's lack of communication, he had been in the general area at the time. One of the helljumpers sighed and looked up. 

"Sarge, why couldn't we just commandeer a mono-rail..."

Johnson glared at the soldier before following his gaze, and spotted one of the blasted things, headed from the direction they were heading in. He watched it, thinking mournfuly about the ease and confort that they could have had if they had thought to use one earlier. Just as he was about to order all of the soldiers, who were all staring at the mono-rail, one of the windows shattered, and an Elite more or less flew out of the space that the window once was and fell.

"Shit!" One of the helljumpers cursed.

Johnson ran to where the Elite had landed, pushing through the crowd that had formed around him. He pushed his way through the human barrier and stopped short. There, lying on the verge of death, was the Arbiter. After shouting out for the medic of the group, he crouched beside his friend, trying to assess his injuries. No plasma burns or gunshot wounds. In fact, it looked like he had been physically assulted. Which was hard to believe, because few could even lay a hit on him, with his speed and agilty. The medic pushed through and started to take his own assessment of the Sangheili's injuries.

"It looks like he has a couple of broken ribs. And his arm is snapped... Legs are broken in various places... multiple gashes and bruising all over. Sir... Looks like he was tortured, sir."

Johnson eyes the countless bruises on his friend, eyebrow raised.

"But why risk letting him live? If it was torture, he'd be dead by now. And why torture him in a mono-rail system?"

The medic shrugged, starting to treat the injuries, that did look suspiciously alike torture injuries. Johnson cursed and called a medivac. The Arbiter needed urgent medical attention. He jumped slightly when the Arbiter shot up and grabbed on to him, in a manner that reminded Johnson of his kid nephew, when he wanted tobe protected from his father for whatever reason, usually because he'd done something and was scared of his fathers wraith. The human frowned slightly. The Arbiter was _scared _of something? That was hard to believe, considering that it was this Elite that had killed the biggest, baddest Brute there was. He didn't try to pry the Elite from the embrace he had on him, he new from experiance that if it was fear, then forcing the scared one to let go increased that fear, because they felt vulnerable. Or something like that. He could never tell with his nephew.

* * *

The Arbiter awoke with a start. Where was he? It took him a minute to realive that he was in the med bay of the Cario.Softly, the Elite sighed to himself. Safe, he was safe. For how long, he didn't know, but for now, he was going to enjoy the moments of safety he had. Sighing again, the Sangheili pushed all thoughts of his father from his mind and tried to return to a dreamless slumber. He was safe. 

-End

* * *

AN 

Yes, I know the ending wasn't super, but towards the end I was running out of ideas. No worries, this may be continued some time. In fact, you can count on it. Just, don't expect it to be the next chapter I post up, it may take some time to think up a conclusion.


End file.
